Rain
by redshipper
Summary: he couldn’t sleep because of the unspoken conversation he had in his mind and the awareness of her oblivion to them


Thicks beads of rain were falling heavily over the city and hitting noisilly the glass windows of the living room, as Booth la

Rain

Thick beads of rain were falling heavily on the city and noisily hitting the glass windows of the living room, as Booth laid awake on the couch, his head resting on his folded arms. Aside from that the place was in complete silence and the half-light of the room allowed him to see the contours and shapes of furniture that was unfamiliar to him.

Her couch was more comfortable than his own and, honestly, this was due to the insane amount of money she must've paid for it. As he settled down further into it, he was glad she could spend such money on these kind of things.

Yet another night he couldn't sleep. Tonight the probable reason was her presence. How odd that was, when she wasn't there he couldn't sleep because her absence was almost palpable in the silence of the room and the strange feeling that haunted him during the long silences he had to go through; when she was there he couldn't sleep because her presence would haunt him as well, but because of the unspoken conversation he had in his mind and the awareness of her oblivion to them.

When did he become so complicated? Usually, he was into a woman, he said so. He courted her, he bought her flowers and took her to dinner and the movies. But he had already bought Brennan flowers (the sheer shock in her face when she saw the daffodil bouquet on her birthday when she thought no one had even realized it was her birthday was worth the trouble of finding the damn bouquet in the first place), had taken her out for dinner (or had taken her takeout dinner, so much for the irony of the recurrent pun his life had become) and had courted her. So to speak.

He felt his stomach full. So full it wouldn't give into the usual flutter every time his mind travelled on to these kinds of thoughts regarding Brennan; it was full with the food she had prepared for him and he pondered on the intimate act of cooking a meal for someone. He pondered on the delighted look on her face when he took the first bite of her macarroni and cheese just to tell her how good it was.

And all the wine. And the talking. Booth loved those moments where Doctor Brennan would just be Temperance and not even Bones, for she would lose this peculiar look of seriousness that surrounded her most of the time and open up around him. She had sit across the table from him, telling him stories, laughing open-heartedly and loudly. He loved the sound of her laughter. He loved how beautiful her teeth were when they appeared as a grin on her face, eyes gleaming along. He loved the little frown between her eyebrows as she did so.

He wished she could laugh more often. Hell, he wished they could have more time alone, just to chill, like they did today, more often. He wished they could drink more wine and be happily, guiltiless and unworried more often. He wished she cooked for him more often and he wished he had hugged her to thank her more often.

Booth rose from the couch, bare feet touching cold floor as he walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The rain still violently hit the windows, making a huge noise, maculating the silence and peace inside Brennan's apartment. It came out of nowhere as they were halfway through dessert and it was her decision that he spent the night there; after all, driving during a thrunderstorm and under the effect of a couple bottles of wine wasn't safe. She had offered him the guest room, but he prefered the couch. He loved her couch, for it was huge and comfortable and that little part of him told him that this was the place where she spends most of her time when she is home. For some odd reason he prefered to be there and she accepted his arguments, with a frown of those who can't comprehend.

There was nothing one couldn't understand there. He had figured it out for some time now and was just dancing around it, avoiding the subject. Everyone else had caught the underlying tension, not only sexual but romantic. They were in love with each other and they took the fact of being partners as a protection against the inevitability of facing such fact at once. Then they'd have to deal with being a couple and the eventuality of a relationship. He was willing to be in a relationship with her and be the man she needed him to be in a heartbeat. But could he be man enough for her?

He paced around her place aimlessly until he was in front of her bedroom door, which was left ajar. He didn't know if she was used to leaving the door open or if he should take it as a silent invitation.

Invitation. For what? Knowing Brennan as well as he did, he was pretty sure that if she was to make any kind of invitation, it would be vocal, loud and clear; if she were to show any kind of interest in him, she would say so.

He tiptoed into her room, surprisingly not as dark as the living room because of the open curtains and the streetlights reflecting upon her bed; she was disheveledly wrapped in blankets, a sign of her fussing during the night or probably before falling asleep. And she looked gorgeous, pale skin offering a kind of soft glow, like a satellite, of the street lights, peaceful expression on her beautiful face. Booth smiled, a thrill in his stomach for the mischievous act of being in her bedroom, in the dark, without her knowing that, watching her sleep.

He crouched by her side, to take a closer look at her face. Her soft limbs were wrapped around pillows, snugged close to her body and skin that wasn't covered seemed to shine brightness off her, as if she was indeed glowing. Dark hair sprawled across the pillow and shoulders were a harsh constrast against her paleness; she looked perfect, glorious, angelical.

And he noticed a tiny smile on her face, as she started fussing again, soflty, letting out a low whimper. The fluttering of her eyelids told him she might've been dreaming. Booth lift his hand to touch her face, lightly, carefully so he wouldn't wake her. Slow fingers ran over her cheeks and removed a strand of stray hair off her face; she frowned slightly, moving her head a little bit.

Brennan lazily opened her unfocused eyes to stare at him, bright blue in the half-light of her bedroom, half-opened with the weight of her sleep. She didn't seem startled to find him there, looking at her, crouched by her side.

"Why are you watching me sleep?" she asked, coarsely.

"No, I'm watching over your sleep," he replied.

She smiled, slowly, lazily, as if she didn't want to come out of the slumber sleep drags people into; even her blinking was slow, lazy. Her eyes were soft and her face was slightly swollen. Brennan took a deep breath.

"What were you dreaming about? You seemed to be enjoying it."

She frowned "Hmmm. I don't... I can't remember. It was a nice dream, though."

He thought she was going to stretch out but, intead she moved farther into the bed, so she was more distant from him.

"Lie here with me."

She didn't have to ask twice. Booth laid on the warm spot were her body was a second earlier and sighed, breathing into the scent of her hair on the pillow and the warmth that seemed to be everywhere.

Brennan's eyes were drifting, as she blinked to try and keep them open; the silence between them was comfortable, cut only by the noise coming from outside, by the moonless night and the persistant rain.

"Thanks for cooking for me tonight, Bones."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it."

"Very much."

Booth smiled and rose his hand again to caress her shoulder through the fabric of her pajamas top; the fabric felt warm and soft under his fingers.

And she moved closer to him, lightly touching his stubbled cheek and holding his chin, lifting her face up to kiss his lips softly. Why this action didn't surprise him, he would never know; maybe it was because he longed her to do it for so long, so long that when it actually happened he thought it was a dream during a lonely cold night. But right now the touch of her lips against his were hot, wet, slow; she brushed them against his, as their bodies moved closer until they were pressed against each other. Her warm feet wrapped in socks rubbed against his bare ones, exquisitely nice.

His hands moved down from her shoulders to the hollow of her waist and she seemed to tense up slightly; warm fingers and slightly cold fingertips brushed against the features of his face, his eyebrows, his nose. Brennan watched him through half-closed eyelids, heavy with sleep, and opened her lips to him, lazily pushing her tongue into his mouth, to which he responded immediately, brushing his against hers; for a split second he felt a thrill run through his spine, as he was finally kissing her, holding her in his arms like this; and she tasted like a dream, probably like the rain outside, like a warm blanket on a cold day.

He delighted on the taste of her mouth against his, of tasting Brennan. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tighter and took in a deep breath, being enveloped by her scent. Brennan broke the kiss to rest her face against his chest, sighing.

Booth looked down at her, smiling, and before he could open his mouth to say anything, he heard her breathing deepening, as she had fallen asleep again, snugged against his chest. He planted a kiss on her forehead and slid an arm under her, wrapping her in his embrace.

But when he woke up he was back again on the couch, to his utter disappointment. It had all been just another sweet dream.

END


End file.
